


Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

by 50251sid



Category: The Borgias, The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Rape, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:51:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2302142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/50251sid/pseuds/50251sid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cesare is desperate to stop his sister's marriage</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Desperate Times

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware: Contains Rape/Non-Con. Discretion is very strongly advised.

It is while Cesare Borgia is attending his sister’s betrothal celebration, watching her dance with that Sforza bastard, that he comes to the realization that he will no longer be his father’s obedient son.

He is supposed to be reveling. He is not reveling.

He has been drinking.

He doesn’t typically allow himself to get drunk. Especially in public. Can’t risk losing control of himself.

But getting drunk is the only way he will get through this.

Just look at her. She is not yet even fourteen years old, but Father is trotting her out, parading her before the Sforza bastard…oh, all right, he himself shouldn’t be pointing a finger at anyone and calling them “bastard,” but even so…

She is so young. So little. So delicate. A child, still. Too young for this. Too young for that Sforza bastard, that oaf who clumsily leads her in a dance, squeezing her tiny fingers too tightly, bumping into her, knocking her off stride. _Lout!_

Cesare’s head spins.

The great hall is gorgeous, filled with glittering candles, glittering people, shimmering music. Food and drink. Flowers. Tapestries. Chairs upholstered in velvet and damask. All to celebrate a betrothal to a marriage that will not…will never…take place.

He will not allow this marriage. He cannot allow it.

But the alliance…

Damn the alliance. Damn the Sforzas. Damn the Papacy. Damn the Church.

And damn, damn, damn the scarlet silk dress Father has forced him to assume!

He will wear it no longer.

And he will stop this marriage.

He will.

 

 

Juan accosts him and hands him a goblet of wine.

“Brother! Your face would curdle milk.”

_“Baciami il culo.”_

“Oh, and in a pleasant mood, too. Are you not enjoying our sister’s betrothal fête?”

“I am not. Those Sforzas make me sick. How can Father dream of letting Lucrezia marry into that clan?”

“We need their ties to Milan, as you well know.”

“There is surely a better way to gain their alliance than sacrificing Lucrezia to them.”

“Perhaps so, but none quicker. Be glad you wear that clerical skirt and won’t have to marry some horse-faced female like the ones Father keeps trying to foist off onto me.”

“Maybe Lucrezia should take the veil.”

“Father would never allow that. He needs her as a bargaining chip.”

Cesare sighs.

“Juan, you cannot feel good about this betrothal.”

“But I do. Father is pleased. So I am pleased.”

“But Lucrezia is the one who has to live with that Sforza pig. Don’t you care about her happiness?”

“She is a dutiful daughter.  Obeying Father’s wishes will make her happy.”

“Does it make you happy to obey Father? Because you do it so seldom.”

“You really are piss-poor company this evening, Brother. I’ll take my leave of you.”

The bright music ceases. The dance is ended.

Giovanni Sforza brings Lucrezia’s hand, the one he has been crushing, to his lips to kiss.

Cesare growls.

He will stop this marriage.

He will.

 

The betrothal fête ended hours ago. Even the servants have gone to bed. Cesare, still fully dressed, slips down the hallway to his sister’s room and silently opens her door.

Good! She is alone. Now that she is betrothed, she considers herself too grown up to sleep in the company of her maid.

He approaches the curtained bed. The moon is waning, casting very little light through the window, but he sees her, lying on her back, her hair, radiant and glowing, spread out across her pillow. He hears her light, even breathing. Her lip twitches, making a kissing motion. His heart skips. She is so small. So young. So innocent.

Even in the dark, he can see that her right ring finger bears a bruise under the nail. Damn that Sforza!

A burp rises in his chest, surprising him with its taste of sour wine. Is he still shitfaced? Probably just as well if his courage remains fortified with Father’s Spanish drink.  

Maybe he should just stand here for a moment and collect his scrambled thoughts.

 

_He means to stop Lucrezia’s marriage._

How?

_Take her away. Escape with her._

Where? Where on God’s earth could the son and daughter of the Pope of Rome find shelter from their Father? Is he not a Fisher of Men? His net casts very wide indeed.

_Palestine. Or France. Perhaps even the New World._

Insanity.

_Magnificent, glorious insanity._

 

Lucrezia stirs.

“Cesare?”

Her voice is slurred and sleepy.

“Yes, my love. I need to speak with you. Now.”

“It’s still night. Aren’t you tired? I am.”

“It’s important, Sis.”

He sits beside her on the bed and takes her hand, gently brushing the bruised fingernail against his lip.

“Do you want to marry Giovanni Sforza?”

“I want to obey Father.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Then, no, I would prefer not to marry him.”

“Whom would you marry?”

“You, Cesare. I will always love you as I love no other. But, of course, that is not possible.”

“What if it was?”

“How could it be? I am your sister. Such a thing is forbidden.”

“We could run away together. Far away where we could never be found. Where no one would know us. We would be happy. I would make you happy.”

She laughs lightly.

“It’s a pretty dream. Now go to bed, Brother.”

“Sleep is not what I need. I need you to say that you will go away with me. Now. This very night.”

“Cesare, you’re not acting like yourself. What’s wrong? You’ve been drinking. That’s not like you either.”

“I love you, Lucrezia. It would kill me to see you marry Sforza. I beg you, don’t do it.”

“Dearest, I have no choice. Father commands it.”

“Father. Father. What about you? You are the one who will have to live with the consequences of Father’s wishes.”

“It is my duty.”

“Duty!”

“Please keep your voice down. We all have our duties to Father. You too.”

“My first duty is to you. To protect you. To cherish you.”

“You’ve always done that. I love you for it.”

“Then come away with me. Live with me. Live for me. Love me.”

He grips her shoulders and his eyes bore into hers, frightening her a little.

"Lucrezia, I will not let you marry Giovanni Sforza."

“You are not joking, are you?”

“My love, I am deadly, desperately serious.”

 

_He will stop this marriage._

How?

_By any means necessary._

How?

_By making sure that she is not marriageable._

How?

_By making sure she is not a virgin._

How?

_Well, how do you think?_


	2. Desperate Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our tale comes to a conclusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware: Intense Rape/NonCon content. Discretion is very strongly advised. Please be forewarned. It is not hot, not romantic. It is ugly and terrible.

Lucrezia grasps her brother’s wrists as his big hands dig into her tender shoulders.

“Cesare, please. Go to bed. You are overwrought.”

“No, Sis, I’m not. I know what I have to do. I will make it so that Sforza won’t want you anymore. I’ll fix things for us. For you.”

“What are you saying?”

“He won’t marry you. Even Father won’t be able to compel him to marry you. You’ll be free of him. Of everyone.”

 

His eyes burn in their sockets. His voice is raspy.

Her eyes search his face, anxiously trying to divine what it is he needs from her.

She is a dove, a lamb, a lily.

His resolve wavers.

Maybe he should just ask her. Maybe she will allow him.

No, she would never…

He will do this. He must.

“Lucrezia, I love you. I do this for you.”

 

He starts to pull her chemise from her body.

“Cesare, what are you doing? Stop that!”

“Sis. I must. For you. For us.”

Baffled, alarmed, she fights against him. Her arms flail at him.

At Cesare, who has never before laid a harsh hand upon her. Has never spoken a harsh word to her.

“Let me go! Stop this. Stop!”

She begins to cry, high-pitched cries, like a child.

 

He grasps her with one hand, wraps her with one long, muscular arm and holds her close. She struggles, kicks, scratches. His free hand catches the neckline of her chemise and rips it down to the hem.

He is momentarily frozen by the sight of her body, now revealed to him. His mouth drops open.

She glows like mother of pearl. Her breasts are lovely little moons, with nipples like pink confections, perfect and delectable. Her thighs are plump and curving. Her smooth belly is adorned with a tiny blonde patch which both hides and highlights her secret gate, the entrance to paradise.

She begins to sob hysterically.

“Cesare, please…”

“For us.”

 

He pushes her down on her back, stretching her arms above her head, his hand imprisoning both of her wrists. He presses his muscled thigh across her legs to stop her kicking.

When he brings his lips to her nipple and sucks, her voice becomes panicky, terrified. She tries to twist away from him. Tears spill down her cheeks.

“No, please. Cesare, don’t do this to me. Don’t. It’s _me_ , Cesare. Lucrezia. Your Lucrezia.”

“ _My_ Lucrezia. Mine. Not his. Mine.”

He raises his head from her breast and crushes his mouth to her trembling lips, pushing his tongue between them. The smell of sour wine on his breath makes her flinch.

 

Who is this monster?

He is big. Strong. An athlete. He spars with fencing foils. He draws a powerful bow and hurls a heavy spear. He hunts wild boars. He fights bulls. He rides a huge black stallion that only he can control.

She is tiny. She dances. Embroiders. Picks roses in her mother’s garden.

 

With his free hand, he begins to unlace his codpiece. She feels his movements and starts to scream. He covers her mouth with his to silence her. He shoves his knee between her thighs and forces them apart.

He must do this. He must. For them. For her.

 _For_ _her_.

“Don’t fight me, my love. I do this for our good.”

Her body quakes.

She is dry as dust, so he spits in his hand and rubs it over his shaft.

Crouching above her, he murmurs, “I love you, Lucrezia.”

Her eyes plead with him. She shakes her head, her hands imprisoned in his grasp and her body still attempting to twist away from beneath him. She weeps and begs him to stop.

When she feels him start to push inside her, start to tear her, her sobs become despairing, become wild keening.

“Noooo!”

 

She stops struggling. Stops resisting. There is no longer a reason to fight him.

He, however, has just begun.

How many women has he had in his seventeen years? Who knows?

Whores. Tavern wenches. Shop girls. Maidservants.

But never a virgin. Never anyone like _her_. She, whom he loves.

He keeps ahold of her wrists with one hand and braces himself up on a locked forearm so he can observe her face as he takes her.

There is little to observe. Her face is blank. Her eyes are fixed straight ahead.

 

“Lucrezia, I do this for you. To free you.”

_“Ah,” he thinks. “She is being compliant. She understands now.”_

He releases her hands and lowers himself onto her, burrowing his face against her shoulder, kissing her throat and her lips. Her arms remain limply extended above her head.

“No man will ever want you now, Sis. But I will. Father will have to give you to me. It’s what we’ve always wanted, isn’t it? You’ll be mine. Mine.”

She lies beneath him, unmoving, inert.

He thrusts his hips, his breathing growing harsher, howling beside her ear.

“Oh, Lucrezia. Oh, my love! Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!”

His cock swells and twitches, and he comes. And comes. And comes.

He collapses against her, his heart overflowing with love and triumph.

_It is consummated._

 

He strokes her hair and tenderly kisses her, whispering endearments. She does not respond.

He withdraws from her body and, smiling, stretches out beside her, his hand on her belly.

Even in the dark, he can see the blood. Smell the blood.

On the sheet. On her. On himself.

 

He hisses sharply.

“Lucrezia. Oh, Lucrezia. I am so sorry.”

Her nipple bears a bruise. Her thighs are patchy with bruises. Her belly bears the purple imprint of his hand. Giovanni Sforza merely bruised her fingernail…

 

The blood.

On the sheet. On her. On himself.

On her.

 

_What has he done?_

She turns away from him, contracts her body, draws into herself, pulls her knees up to her belly. Wraps her arms around her knees. Silently. Her chemise, torn and in ribbons, still clings to her shoulders and arms.

He touches her with trembling fingers. She flinches.

“Lucrezia. I love you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear. I’m so sorry. Let me…”

 

He gets up from the bed and goes to her washstand, wringing out a cloth in a basin of water, and brings it to her. He turns her over onto her back.

He dabs at her face, her tear-streaked face. Her lips are swollen, puffy, bruised. Had he really kissed her that roughly? He didn’t remember doing that. When he slides the cloth down her body, she jerks as she crosses her arms over her breasts.

“I won’t touch you there, Sis. I won’t.”

Wiping her belly, her poor, mottled belly.

Oh, and the blood. Oh, god, the blood!

He shoves the cloth into her hand.

“Here. I won’t touch you.”

She remains silent, her gaze fixated on the ceiling.

 

He gets up again and returns to the washstand. He looks down at his own body, his cock exposed by his unlaced codpiece. He claps his hand over his mouth in horror.

He is attempting to wash away the blood when the nausea hits him, bends him double. He gags, retches, dry-heaves.

 

Having done up his codpiece, he returns to her bed.

She is still lying motionless, the washcloth resting on her stomach, clutched in her hand.

He reaches to take it from her, and she screams.

Frantically, he covers her mouth with his hand, stifling her.

“Shhh, shhh, my love. Here. Keep the cloth. Keep it. I just wanted to wash you. Clean you. Do you want to do it yourself? Is that what you want? Dearest, you’re…bleeding. You need…Won’t you let me help you?”

She sits up, bends her knees to her chest, and stares down at her lower body, the washcloth dangling from her fingers. She peels off the tatters of her chemise

She makes no attempt to conceal herself from his sight. She is so awfully, painfully young. A flower bud. A tiny bird.

 

_What has he done?_

“I did it for us, my beloved. So no one else would have you. You understand, don’t you? Why I did it? Not to hurt you. Oh, my love, never to hurt you! We can go away together now. Just you and me.”

He falls to his knees beside the bed and begins to weep.

“Come away with me.”

He reaches out his hand to her, his eyes yearning, searching her face.

She stares at him in disbelief.

“I’ll take you away,” he continues, his words tumbling over each other. “Just you and me. I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you happy. We can go to France. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? France. Or else, maybe Scotland. I hear it’s beautiful there, wild and unspoiled. We could live on a farm. You could have a flock of hens who would lay eggs for you. And a lamb. A little lamb, soft and sweet just like you. And you won’t have to marry Giovanni Sforza or anyone else. I’ll be the only man who ever touches you. Me. Just me. Oh, Sis, my dearest angel, say something! Please!”

Her eyes are blank. She has no more tears. A sick, ironic smile plays about her lips. She snorts a bitter laugh.

“ _You_ will be the only man who touches me? Somehow that thought gives me cold comfort.”

“I’ll make this up to you. I’ll atone for the hurt I’ve caused you. I will make you happy. I promise.”

“How? By making me a fugitive? Never to see my parents or brothers ever again? My home? No, I certainly can’t marry now, lest my husband discover I am no longer a virgin and denounce me for a whore. Disgrace my family. You have really backed me into a corner, Brother. You have destroyed any prospects I would have ever had for an honorable marriage, and now you offer yourself to me as my only option. You.”

“Lucrezia, I love you! Please! Father will surely allow…”

“Why would Father give me to you?”

“Because…because…”

“Because I am ruined for anyone else?”

“Lucrezia…my love...not ruined. Not for me.”

“And why would I want Father to give me to you?”

 

She sits, gazing at nothing, running her hands up and down her arms.

 

“You love me, Cesare?”

His words come out in a jumble.

“All my life, my darling Lucrezia. I couldn’t part with you. I couldn’t bear the thought of Giovanni…”

“Be quiet!” She snaps at him. “What do you mean to do now? Tell Father that you violated me?”

“I…I hadn’t really planned to do that…I just thought you and I would slip away…”

“Then why ravish me?”

“So you would _have_ to leave with me! You’d have no alternative.”

He covers his face with his hands and cries.

“Oh, I am the vilest of creatures!”

She does not contradict him.

 

“Cesare!”

He tenses.

“Yes, my lady?”

“I am bloodied. Wash me.”

“Yes, my lady.”

He strokes the washcloth over her thighs, smearing the stains rather than removing them.

“Your efforts only seem to make things worse. Keep trying.”

He bows his head, his shoulders shaking with his sobbing.

“I will keep trying for the remainder of my life, Lucrezia.”

She reaches out to touch his dark brown curls, but her hand stops in mid-air.

Can she ever forgive him?

 

_Can she?_


End file.
